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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25927603">under</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukinaMika/pseuds/YukinaMika'>YukinaMika</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>2020 [20]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blindfolds, Cock Warming, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, a little bit of it, there is a third person who remains obvious to the whole thing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:35:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,461</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25927603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukinaMika/pseuds/YukinaMika</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He can’t even tell the passing of seconds when he is on his knees, too distracted by the pulsing heat in his mouth to care for propriety or being a productive member of society.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>2020 [20]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>137</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>under</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is nothing but the quiet sound of shifting papers, of pen against pages. Nothing out of place, just a normal office.</p><p>And then there is him, on his knees, suit ruffled and hair a mess, unable to see, courtesy of his own tie, mouth stretched around the big cock resting heavily on his tongue. His hands are not tied but they might as well be with how tight they fist in his pants, determined to stay rooted there, ignoring the throbbing of his own cock, neglected and confined.</p><p>He does not know how long it has been since the tie settled over his eyes, a makeshift blindfold, knotted behind his head. He can’t even tell the passing of seconds when he is on his knees, too distracted by the pulsing heat in his mouth to care for propriety or being a productive member of society.</p><p>The sound of the door opening strikes like a bolt of thunder down his spine, his body seizing up with the fear. To be seen on his knees, cheeks bulging from the cock in his mouth, clothes rumpled with the obvious tent in his pants; that would be the worst humiliation.</p><p>Yet somehow, his blood thrums with a fuzzy and wrong-placed excitement. His own cock strains in its confides at the idea of his debauchery revealed in broad day light. </p><p>"Mr. Wayne," the familiar voice of Lucius Fox washes over him, shame burning hotly under his skin, "These are the quarterly reports you asked for."</p><p>"Thank you, Lucius," he feels rather than hear the low rumbling of the voice that has, so many times, coaxed him to the proverbial edge and left him dangling right over it, unable to move even an inch, "Remind Tim to look over this, will you?"</p><p>The rustling of papers and the groan from Lucius tells him of the stack of papers that would greet him when he returns to his office. Another pile of work that needs to be done.</p><p>Fucking Bruce. Who even asked for the quarterly reports only to shoulder it onto some poor soul?</p><p>So maybe it is spite but the hiss that Bruce lets out when Tim caresses the underside of his cock with his nearly numb tongue is a sound he would replay over and over, preferably when more works are hoisted onto him. He might just add some teeth later when he goes down on that fat cock just to spite the older man.</p><p>"What is it?" Lucius curious voice yanks him back to reality and he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and down south at the reminder that there is someone else in the room - someone who is blissfully obvious to whatever is happening under his boss' desk, "Did you cut your finger on the papers again?"</p><p>The thought of being discovered, of being seen by one of his colleagues while tucked under the desk of their boss like a toy, blindfolded and mouth stretched around the cock of said boss lights a fire under his skin. His cock throbs and it takes all of him to keep his hands where they are, fisted painfully into the fabric of his pants.</p><p>He keeps his tongue working, teasing the heated skin, grinning wickedly at the feeling of an aborted thrust.</p><p>"No," Bruce's voice is annoyingly calm like he is talking about the weather rather than having a mouth fluttering around his cock, "Just a drop of spilled ink."</p><p>"I keep telling you to switch to ballpoint pens. Those fountain pens are fancy and all but the ink spill is a nightmare to deal with."</p><p>"But Lucius," and that voice that haunts his dreams just drops an octave, uncaring for the heat it stirs in Tim's stomach or the poor cock that perks up at that sound, "I have had many fond memories of this pen. Why, Tim has wonderful taste. His gifts are always so thoughtful."</p><p>Oh, are they? Because Tim is dying of embarrassment at the memories of where that pen - and the other gifts of his - has been.</p><p>Lucius makes a choking noise. Disregarding the innuendos, Bruce never talks like that. Those are Brucie Wayne's words and god knows that everyone hates Brucie Wayne with a burning passion.</p><p>It is a miracle that the man has not been assassinated yet.</p><p>"I'm going to go now," Lucius says, probably to avoid spending any more time with Brucie Wayne, "Good day, Mr. Wayne."</p><p>The door shuts quietly and Tim can finally sigh in relief. He does not because there is still a cock in his mouth, blocking any sound he might make.</p><p>A heavy hand drops down on his head, burying itself into his hair. It tugs at his hair, his neck craning, a voiceless order and his jaws fall slack, letting the cock in his mouth slides out, wet with spit from the prolong period inside his warmth.</p><p>"Hi there," the chuckle in that voice makes the hair on his nape rise, a dangerous sound of a looming predator, "I see you have been hard at work."</p><p>He wants to say something, to snark, to sass, just so he can forget about the vulnerable position he is in: rumpled clothes and messy hair, blinded by his own tie, open-mouthed and swollen lips, drool sticky at the corner of his mouth. Instead, he sits there, head craning up toward where he assumes the man holding his invisible leash would be, panting like a dog.</p><p>There is a new touch on his chin, feather light against his heated skin, trailing down toward his Adam's apple and rests there. The pressure comes, hot and unyielding and his body is rigid against the touch, leashed to the ground by invisible chains while his throat flutters against the pressure, a heady rush of fear spiking in his veins.</p><p>And as quick as it came, it disappears. If it was not for the grip on his hair, his head might actually be on the ground at this moment.</p><p>As it is, he is kept upright by his hair, knees aching, hands on the cool floor and back arches. His ass, however, is not resting on his heels anymore but up in the air, pushing against the wood behind him.</p><p>"Bending over already?" god, he cannot help the shudder at the amusement in that tone, "You can't really help yourself, can you?"</p><p>He whines like a fucking dog, the condensing tone washing over him. His head falls backward the moment the grip on his hair loosens and the tip of a shoe presses under his chin, tilting his head up.</p><p>"Tim," his name is a low growl and god, his cock jerks and the little whimper that slips out is not something he can control, "Do you want to come?"</p><p>Does he want to come? Of course he does! But...</p><p>Bruce is a bastard and more than once, he has left Tim with cum on his face, cock throbbing for release yet unable to. It is always coming with his permission or being denied of sweet release in the near future and Bruce, more often than not, finds desperation, according to the man himself, "a great look" on his partners.</p><p>He is taking too long to answer and the tip of the shoe digs into his throat.</p><p>"Come on, Tim," fucking bastard sounds so concerned, like he has never made Tim beg for release and then denied him, "Do you not want to come?"</p><p>Fucker.</p><p>"No," his voice is wrecked, throaty from disuse, "Want to..."</p><p>The bastard hums like he is considering something huge, like the upcoming big project of WayneTech. For a moment, Tim resigns himself to the denial that is yet to come.</p><p>Until Bruce chuckles and a hand lands on his head, stroking the messy hair like one would a pet.</p><p>"I am feeling a bit generous," he muses as Tim trembles under his touch, snorting in laughter at the way swollen lips part in surprise, "And you have been so good to me, keeping my cock warm with your mouth."</p><p>Oh. <em>Oh!</em></p><p>"You can get yourself off with my foot but only after you get me off. Understood?"</p><p>"Yes, sir," he nudges against the hand on his head like a cat would, hoping to convey his gratitude, "Thank you, sir."</p><p>Bruce laughs, the sound almost fond as he gives him a little pat on the head before that big hand fists into his hair and yanks him forward.</p><p>Tim goes and lets the grip direct him. The grip is painful but it will hurt less if he is obedient.</p><p>He is on his knees again. The cock that he has been so well-acquainted with is hot against his cheek.</p><p>"Hands behind your back," says Bruce, that warm hand toying with his hair, "You won't need them for this."</p><p>The moment he complies, he is rewarded by the momentary press of the tip of a shoe against his straining cock, resulting in a strangled groan as his hips try to buck forward only to be stopped by the sudden grip on his hair.</p><p>"Patience," god, that voice is still so calm and he can faintly feel a hand unknotting the tie, "Let's get this off. Then you can start."</p><p>The moment the tie comes off, Tim surges forward, taking the cock down to the hilt. The hard tug on his hair pulls him off, tearing a confused cry from him. He pants and stares up at the impassive face, feeling chastised like a naughty child.</p><p>"Tim," his name is a growl, the grip on his hair tight and painful, "Did I or did I not tell you to be patient?"</p><p>"Yes, but-," a mildly disapproving look ends whatever he might have said. </p><p>"Then there is no need to rush," Bruce insists before the hand on his hair guides him forward, "Again."</p><p>He starts with little kittenish licks, showering the cock with attention, painstakingly aware of the hand on his head. He trails his lips down the impressive length, paying extra attention on the heavy balls when the grip on his hair tightens.</p><p>Bruce is a control freak in the bedroom. Just like he is in every aspect of their lives, always have to have the reigns.</p><p>And look, he does want to add some teeth for the added workload. He really wishes to. Except, the promise of sweet release hangs just ahead.</p><p>Like he knows whatever thought is currently in Tim's mind, the bastard smirks, hand pulling him closer until the tip of his cock is pressed against Tim's tongue. Too close but too far, forcing his jaws to remain open, the man stares down at him with detached eyes.</p><p>"Maybe I should have kept the tie on," the tone is simply casual, like they are chatting about the weather and not like, engaging in an activity that could end in serious backlash for both of them, "It's not like you need your eyes to suck cocks."</p><p>This time, the hand on his head trails down to his nape, gently but insistently pushing his head forward, the cock sliding in and in until it hits the back of his throat. And it stays there even as his throat flutters around the intrusion, even as tears bead at the corner of his eyes.</p><p>A strangled cry forces its way out. A pitiful plead for mercy as he stares up at the man above him.</p><p>The hand eases, tangling in the hair at his nape and pulling his head back until only the tip remains. And the face that stares down at him is downright wicked, a sliver of cold satisfaction in that smile.</p><p>"Well done," and he shivers, blood pooling down south, the praise ringing in his ears, "Be a good boy and do it again."</p><p>This time, he goes slack, lets his jaws open and throat lax when the hand at his nape pulls him closer to Bruce. He pushes the urge to gag down when the tip pushes against the back of his throat, breathing through his nose when it lingers a little bit too long.</p><p>There is nothing but the hand at his nape, the cock going in and out in his mouth, the taste of precum on his tongue. All he does is sit there and let his mouth be used as a means to get off for someone else, uncaring for the bulge in his pants or those aching knees of his. Just the repetitive in and out of the cock, the heady feeling of submission coursing in his veins.</p><p>He jolts when a sudden warmth blooms in his mouth but the hand on his nape holds him back, keeping him on the pulsing cock as hot cum fills his mouth. His cheeks bulge from the sheer amount of cum but the hand at his nape soon circles around his throat, squeezing the side of neck warningly.</p><p>"Don't swallow yet," Bruce rumbles, eyes intense and tone too calm for someone who has just come, "Keep it there until after you get yourself off."</p><p>This time, there is no hand to guide him. Just a hand around his throat while he grinds down against the pristine shoe.</p><p>The pressure is delicious, perfect against his ignored cock and just as he is about let out a groan, the hand tightens minutely. A warning to keep his mouth close and the load of cum where it should be.</p><p>Desperation hums under his skin, grounding his crotch down on the shoe, pitiful noises muffled by the load in his mouth. A hand at his throat, cheeks budging, saliva and cum leaking out from the corner of his swollen lips, writhing against the unyielding pressure, his cock throbs toward the release that is just in sight.</p><p>"Look at me," the sudden growl causes him to grind down harder, hips bucking furiously as his own desperate eyes pry themselves open to hold the ruthlessly amused gaze, "Keep your eyes on me when you come."</p><p>He comes with a pathetic strangled whine, holding those intense eyes, mouth falling open and half of the load in his mouth leaking down his chest before the hand on his throat tilts his head backwards to save his clothes from being further soaked by cum, the remaining load going down his well-fucked throat. The front of his pants is wet, a darken patch that speaks exactly of what has happened as he sags against the grip at his neck.</p><p>The hand around his throat turns into the hand on his head, patting like one would a treasured pet and Bruce looks at him with something akin with satisfaction that makes his whole body hum with joy.</p><p>"That's a good boy."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>After last night when I wrote the other 1k words smut, I finally decided to write just one more fic. And then I finished it in a day.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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